Scattering — the series · Illustrated Physics

How much each colour is scattered. Scattering strength against wavelength, as the inverse fourth power, normalised to one at 550 nanometres. Light at 450 nanometres is scattered 4.35 times as strongly as light at 650 nanometres — which is the whole reason the sky is the colour it is.

Why the sky is blue and the sunset is not, from one exponent

Scattering goes as the inverse fourth power of wavelength, and that single number produces a blue sky and a red sun without any second explanation. The two facts look opposite and are the same arithmetic.

part 1 · optics

Where the sky's blue goes. How many times more strongly a sphere scatters 450 nm light than 650 nm light, against its radius, with the radius on a logarithmic axis running from a couple of nanometres to twenty micrometres. On the left the ratio sits at 4.35, which is the fourth power of the wavelength ratio and the whole reason the daytime sky is blue. It does not stay there. By a radius of 245 nm the preference has halved, and by a micrometre it has essentially gone: a particle comparable with the wavelength scatters every visible colour within a few per cent of equally, which is why a cloud is white, why fog is white, why milk is white and why the exhaust of a cold diesel is white while the smoke of a cigarette — whose particles are ten times smaller — is blue. Nothing about the material changed between one end of this axis and the other; only the size did.

When the particle is the size of the wave

The sky is blue because small things scatter short wavelengths far more strongly. A cloud is made of the same water and scatters every colour alike. Nothing about the material changed — only the size, and one dimensionless number crossing one.

part 2 · optics

N when the phases are random, N² when they are not. Scattered intensity against the number of scatterers, both logarithmic, for two ways of adding the same amplitudes. The lower curve averages 400 draws of N unit amplitudes with independent random phases and grows as N^1.000; the upper one adds them in phase and grows as N². At 3000 scatterers the two differ by a factor of 2921. Nothing about the scatterers is different between the two — same number, same strength, same wavelength. Only the arrangement is, and it is worth three decades here.

Why a litre of water is not blue for the reason the sky is

The same molecules that make the sky blue also make the refractive index of air, and the two numbers agree because the sideways sum has random phases and the forward one does not. Condense those molecules into a liquid and the sideways sum collapses by a factor of sixteen — and what is left is thirty-four times smaller than the absorption that actually colours the water.

part 3 · optics

Why only a sideways scattered wave takes anything away. The transmitted amplitude behind a thin scatterer, drawn as a phasor: the incident wave of unit length along the axis, plus a forward-scattered wave of length 0.12 at 0°, 60°, 90°, 150°. What a detector reads is the square of the total length. A scattered wave along the incident one lengthens or shortens the sum in proportion to itself; one at right angles changes the length only in second order, because a small perpendicular addition to a long vector barely alters its length. So a scatterer that removes energy from the beam at first order must scatter forward with a component perpendicular to the incident wave, and the size of that component is the whole extinction — which is the optical theorem.

Everything a scatterer removes, from one direction

How much light a particle takes out of a beam — by scattering it anywhere at all, and by absorbing it — is fixed entirely by what it does in the forward direction, where its scattered wave cannot be told apart from the incident one. The mechanism is interference, and it also gives the refractive index.

part 4 · optics

Light that walks through a cloud. Seven photons entering a slab 8 scattering mean free paths thick from above, straight down, and followed until they leave, with every scattering equally likely to send them in any direction; their paths are projected onto the page. Of 20000 photons followed the same way, 82.5 per cent come back out of the top and 17.5 per cent out of the bottom. Diffusion theory predicts 18.2 per cent through the bottom. Only 10 photons cross without scattering at all, where e⁻⁸ predicts 6.7 — within the counting error of so few: nearly all of what is transmitted has walked, and the direction it arrived from is forgotten on the way.

The cloud light has to walk through

A beam crossing thirty scattering lengths of anything should keep e⁻³⁰ of itself — a ten-millionth of a millionth. A cloud thirty scattering lengths thick lets through nearly a third of the sunlight falling on it. The light has not crossed; it has walked, one scattering at a time, and a walk through a slab obeys a law with the shape of Ohm's rather than of an exponential.

part 5 · optics

With interference kept, transmission falls exponentially; without it, only as one over the thickness. Light through stacks of randomly thick transparent layers, alternating indices 1 and 2.6, with thicknesses scattered by ±50 per cent about a quarter wave, on a logarithmic scale against the number of layers. The falling line is the transmission with the waves' interference kept, computed exactly by multiplying transfer matrices and averaged as the logarithm over 40 random stacks and five wavelengths. It falls in a straight line: the transmission drops by a factor of e every 17 layers, however thick the stack, which is exponential decay — localisation. The upper curve is the same stacks with every surface's reflection and transmission added as intensities, so that no interference survives. It falls only as one over the thickness, checked to grow in exact proportion, which is the diffusion of light through a cloud: at 400 layers it still transmits 1.0 per cent where the coherent stack typically transmits 4.5·10⁻¹¹.

The walk that interference can stop

Light scattered many times walks through a cloud, and a walk always gets through eventually — a slab twice as thick lets through half as much. Keep the waves' interference instead of adding intensities, and in one dimension the same disorder does something a walk cannot: it stops the light exponentially, traps it in modes with nothing special about where they sit, and turns transmission from a number into a spread over powers of ten. Whether the same can happen to light in three dimensions has been claimed, retracted and argued for thirty years.

part 6 · optics

The full moon that is too bright

Half a moon shows half the lit disc, so it ought to be about half as bright as a full one — a little less, allowing for the angle. It is a tenth as bright. In the last few days before full the Moon brightens far faster than its growing area can explain, and the extra light is not reflected any more strongly. It comes from shadows disappearing. The lunar soil is a loose heap of grains, and when the Sun is directly behind the observer every grain hides its own shadow.

part 7 · optics

How much darker a surface looks under a film of water. The diffuse reflectance of a surface covered by a thin film of clear water (solid), against its reflectance dry, with the dry value for comparison (dashed): (1 − Rₑₓₜ) a (1 − Rᵢₙₜ)/(1 − a Rᵢₙₜ), where the film traps and returns light that falls outside its escape cone. A bright surface of reflectance 0.9 falls to 0.77; a mid-grey one of 0.5 to 0.32, 64 per cent of its dry value; a dark one of 0.2 to 0.11, 54 per cent. Dark surfaces darken proportionally most, because each return trip costs them most; and a coloured surface grows more saturated, because the colours it absorbs are absorbed again on every return while the colour it reflects survives.

The sand that darkens when it is wet

Wet sand is darker than dry sand, a wet stone darker than a dry one, a splashed pavement darker in patches, and a wet white shirt turns grey and then see-through. Water is clear and absorbs almost nothing, so it cannot be adding darkness. What it does is change where the light goes. A film of water on a surface traps light that has been scattered back up, returning most of it for another chance to be absorbed. Water in the pores between grains replaces air with something closer to the grains' own refractive index, so each grain turns light aside less, and light wanders deeper before it gets out. Both lengthen the path, and on a longer path more light is absorbed by the material that was there all along.

part 8 · optics

The two lines a vibration adds to scattered light. The light scattered by silicon's optical vibration at 520 cm⁻¹, against its shift from the 532 nm laser line in cm⁻¹ (negative, lost to the crystal; positive, gained from it), on a logarithmic intensity axis, at 100 K, 300 K and 600 K; the strong unshifted line and its wings are cut out at the centre. The Stokes line, where the light gives up a quantum of vibration, barely changes: 1.00, 1.09 and 1.40 in relative strength. The anti-Stokes line, where it takes one, needs a vibration already excited and grows from 7·10⁻⁴ of the Stokes line at 100 K to 0.103 at 300 K and 0.36 at 600 K. The light comes back bluer only as often as the crystal is warm enough to pay for it.

The light that comes back bluer when it is warm

Shine a green laser on a crystal and a tiny fraction of the light comes back with a different colour: a little redder, having given a quantum of energy to one of the crystal's vibrations, or a little bluer, having taken one. Losing energy is always possible. Gaining it needs a vibration already excited, so the bluer light is fainter, and fainter still the colder the crystal. The ratio of the two is a Boltzmann factor, fixed by quantum statistics and nothing else. It is a thermometer that needs no contact and no calibration — and in a long glass fibre, it is thousands of thermometers at once.

part 9 · optics

How a dark ridge fades into the sky. The apparent contrast against the horizon sky of a black ridge at a given distance, seen in green light (550 nm) along a level path at sea level, on a logarithmic scale: e^(−βx), the light from the ridge scattered out of the path and the sky's light scattered in. The dashed line is the eye's threshold, a contrast of 2%. Clean air: β = 0.0116 per km, visible to 337 km; light haze, 0.05 per km: β = 0.06 per km, visible to 64 km; haze, 0.3 per km: β = 0.31 per km, visible to 13 km. Pure air sets a limit of a few hundred kilometres to how far anything can be seen; in practice haze shortens it to tens.

How far the air lets a mountain be seen

A dark mountain on the horizon fades not because its light grows too faint to see but because the air between it and the eye glows. Sunlight scattered into the line of sight fills the dark ridge in until it matches the sky behind it, and its contrast falls as a simple exponential of the distance. With the eye's threshold at two per cent, that gives a visual range of 3.912 divided by the air's scattering coefficient: about 337 kilometres for perfectly clean air in green light, far less in the hazes real air carries. The same arithmetic makes near ridges blue and far ones pale.

part 10 · optics

The rings the full solution finds. The light scattered back by water drops of about 10 µm radius, at 550 nm, from the exact Mie series with around 134 terms for each drop, averaged over a ten per cent spread of sizes so that the fine ripple each single drop has is washed out. Instead of the smooth, weak background of the ray picture, the intensity rises sharply toward 180° through a series of rings about one and a half degrees apart, each brighter than the last, to a first ring 1.5° from straight back. These are what an observer sees round the shadow of an aircraft on a cloud, or round a shadow on a mist at a mountain top: the glory. It is present in the same mathematics that gives the rainbow, and it takes the whole series, with its surface-wave terms, to find.

The rings no ray can reach

Look down from an aircraft at a cloud, and round the aircraft's shadow there may be coloured rings, centred exactly on the point opposite the Sun. Mountain climbers have seen them round their own shadows for centuries, and every drop in that cloud is a sphere of water. Yet ray optics says that a drop of water cannot send light straight back. Its best ray falls fourteen degrees short. The glory lives entirely in those fourteen degrees.

part 11 · optics